𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

"𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒, 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 DOWN," 𝐈 beg my brother as he drags me outside.

Aeris doesn't listen to me.

My wrist is hooked between his five fingers with a tension I hadn't known someone as sweet as him could harbor. My feet trip over themselves, my toes brushing against the overgrown weeds of the church's backyard, my flats long fallen off in my little brother's dismay.

Aeris doesn't let go of me until we are deep in the yard—until it would take another person at least another couple of minutes to find us here. When he finally releases me, I hiss and yank my hand back, shocked to see four, brazen-red marks marring my pale skin.

"Aeris, what the hell?" I claim.

"Don't," he replies, his voice strained, "Just don't."

My jaw tightens.

I hold my bruised wrist with my free hand, and I shut my mouth. Not because Aeris is asking me to, and certainly not because I don't have more to say, but because I think I might know what be coming. I believe that after the discussion with Greta, I have a clarity on what it is that Aeris might have to say to me. So I give him this.

I let him drag me.

I let him hurt me.

If that's what he needs, then I'll allow it.

For no one other than Aeris.

"What's going on?" I probe.

"I was talking with Aemon," Aeris says, running a hand over his mouth, wiping sweat and anxiety from his upper lip, "I was talking with Aemon just before I talked to you in the bathroom, but I hadn't realized we were being listened to until I ran into Aemon after you left and he gave me the run-down on how many different ways he will kill me if this gets out any other way."

"What are you—?"

"Beau heard us," he breathes, "Heard me."

"I don't understand—heard what?"

I attempt to move closer to my brother, to rid this gap between us because we've always been affectionate with each other, but as I take a step forward, Aeris takes a step in opposition. He holds his hands at chest level, almost as if he's warning me to stay back—to stay away from him.

I can't wrap my head around it.

Aeris's chocolate eyes are swimming in distress and equal fear as he stares at me. A slip of a black curl falls across the apple of his cheek as he takes another step back for good measure. I swallow the lump in my throat as I raise my hands in surrender and tell him without words that I'm not going to get any closer than he might like.

It takes a few minutes.

But slowly, we both lower our hands.

"Aeris," I say, "You're scaring me."